Not Really Living
by Paper Pearls
Summary: After the war, Narcissa attempts to decrease the gulf between her family and the side of the victors by accepting her token invitation to a celebratory dinner party. What she sees of Molly Weasley's life distresses her. One shot.


**This is my response to day 5 of **_**Siriusly Smart's**_** iPod challenge. It is post war.**

**OoOoO**

"_This wicked tongue says,_

_You know you're not really living."_

_-PJ Harvey, 'This Wicked Tongue'_

Narcissa Malfoy sat by the table, her posture too straight to appear natural, but she did not have to worry about the only outward sign of her discomfort being picked up on, because the other people seated around the table did not care, for which she was grateful; Narcissa loathed all of them, in some way or another. They were crude, crumbs of food spraying from the mouth of Ronald Weasley as he spoke, and beneath her in every way. His mother immediately reprimanded him, but she was so uncouth that she had _shouted_ at the table. Narcissa winced imperceptibly. Delicately, she lifted her napkin and wiped the fleck of sauce that hit her cheek as the surviving Weasley twin – she neither knew nor cared which one it was – doled out the gravy ham fistedly.

Had she been at home, in the spacious, familiar confines of the Malfoy ancestral home, Narcissa would have given a smooth apology to her guests and retired to her rooms for the night. The ache in her throat was so painful that Narcissa could barely swallow the overcooked roast meat that had been placed before her. _She didn't want to be here_. And yet, she_ had_ to be here, in the shack that barely passed as a home, blocking out the raucous chatter – _altogether too loud for a civilised dinner party _– because their reputation, the Malfoy reputation, was hanging by a thread. For the majority of their married life, Lucius had been responsible for their advancement at the Ministry, and she had been the ideal hostess, and this partnership had paved the way for her son.

_Everything had gone wrong. _

They had put all of their energy into backing the losing side, and it had almost cost the Malfoys their son. Draco would have been able to follow in his father's footsteps at the Ministry without the slightest bit of bother, his pretty young fiancée Astoria at his side, but their connections had all vanished. Some had died, some had been incarcerated, and others were biding their time before their faction could come into power again. Every influential figure they had spent their lives making ties with had disappeared, and it was unthinkable that her son should be left without the advantages he had been raised to expect. So Narcissa was at the Burrow, having accepted her token invitation to the celebration, and attempting not to cry as she forced herself to eat a ridiculously sweet mass of sugary substances under the guise of dessert.

Never had Narcissa imagined lowering herself in such an abysmal way. Dinner parties as she knew them were tasteful affairs, every course of the meal prepared perfectly, and the guests strategically seated; they were opportunities to demonstrate her own skill and to reaffirm her own place in what had been a glittering society. Subtly, she turned to watch as the Weasley matriarch waved her wand and levitated a pile of dirty dishes into the kitchen, visible through the door.

_Was Molly Weasley aware of having committed such a spectacular faux pas? _

_Did she not realise how poorly her domestic habits reflected upon her meagre household?_

It seemed that Mrs Weasley realised she was under scrutiny, her plump features schooling into an awkward mask of kindness as she observed Narcissa. Had they not been buried under layers of fat, the inevitable product of eating such food day in day out and bearing so many children, Narcissa saw that she would have been almost pretty. Her urge to sneer was quelled by a stab of pity.

"So how's young Draco doing, Mrs Malfoy?" Mrs Weasley attempted to sound companionable, but her words were obviously forced. The table fell silent, but for the noise of spoons hitting bowls, and the obscene sound of chewing that Narcissa was struggling to blot from her consciousness. Neville Longbottom cast a furtive glance at the Lovegood girl, the only one of the guests crammed into the tiny room to dare watch her openly. Her dreamy blue eyes peered at her so intently that Narcissa wondered fleetingly if the girl was all there before turning her attention to the question.

"My son is well, thank you, very well indeed." She couldn't keep the slight frown from her face as Harry Potter, the _Chosen One_, shared an amused glance with the one she knew to be named Ronald. "How is your godson faring, Mr Potter? Theodore, I believe his name is."

"Teddy's doing as well as could be expected considering that he has no parents. Still, your _sister's_ taking really good care of him." The emphasis Harry placed on Andromeda's name made her want to squirm, yet Narcissa did no such thing, instead bestowing a cool smile on him.

"I'm glad to hear it." Narcissa's hand did not tremble as she reached out and lifted her glass of wine in a silent toast to the health of a child she had never met. Carefully, she avoided putting the chipped part of the rim to her mouth.

"No you're not." Ronald Weasley looked at her angrily, his eyes without any real spark of intelligence.

"Ron, shut up." Typical of one of her breeding, the mud – she _mustn't_ use that word anymore, and especially not in this company – the muggleborn hissed along the table.

"Well you know it's true, Hermione. She doesn't give a damn about Teddy, and she's never even been to visit him, even though he's her great nephew, because of who his parents were. She's as prejudiced as ever." Ron thumped the table with his fist and slumped back, eying Narcissa like a sulky child.

"Would you care to repeat any of that to my face, Mr Weasley, or am I to be openly slandered?" Narcissa's tone was chill, and she did nothing to betray her distress at how little was being accomplished by her visit.

"No he wouldn't. Sorry Mrs Malfoy." Harry spoke through clenched teeth, clearly not meaning a word of what he said. She nodded, giving her pardon. "I don't want any more fighting."

He left the table without so much as excusing himself or thanking his hosts for the dubious honour of eating at their table, the Weasley girl hot on his heels. Narcissa remained as still as a statue, as pale as marble, barely aware of the guests rising and thanking Molly for the meal, or the younger ones following Harry Potter out into the garden.

Narcissa had always known when someone was watching her – being as beautiful as she was, how could she not – and sure enough, when she had regained enough of her composure to rise, express her thanks and continue on her way, Molly's eyes were fixed on her.

"Mrs Weasley, it was a pleasure. Thank you for inviting me." Narcissa gave a curt smile and accepted her travelling cloak, cut from finer cloth than what was clearly Mrs Weasley's finery, and fastened the silver buttons with deft fingers.

"You're quite welcome, and I'm sorry about Ronald... he gets carried away sometimes." Molly shrugged apologetically and continued transporting dishes to the kitchen, leaving Narcissa to hide her surprise.

"Would you care for a house elf? Since Draco moved away from home, I don't believe we need as many as we once did." Narcissa coughed into her monogrammed handkerchief in an effort to disguise her awkwardness; she wasn't used to being needlessly kind. It felt alien.

Molly stiffened, placing a hand on her shapeless waist.

"We don't need your charity." Mouth pursed, she disappeared into the kitchen. Narcissa gaped at her audacity. How dare this upstart woman rebuff her generosity, when she so clearly needed it? She followed Molly, conscious of how important it was that they make peace before parting; for Draco, Narcissa would do this. To her surprise, the kitchen was clean, if a little shabby. Molly Weasley cleaned the house by herself. Narcissa struggled to hide her distaste. She felt at once sympathy and revulsion; no witch or wizard should be made to live a life of such menial drudgery, _especially_ not a pureblood.

"It's nothing of the sort. It would please me greatly, were you to accept." She watched as Molly's brown knitted in a frown. The tap dripped steadily into the sink.

"Why?" From what Narcissa saw in those searching brown eyes, she knew that it was to her advantage to be straightforward.

"You're not a servant, so why live as one? Why not enjoy the freedom and liberty that you fought for?" Narcissa spoke more fiercely than she had intended, considering all of the chores that Molly Weasley would be forced to spend each day carrying out.

"I'm not a servant. I'm a housewife, a mother, and a very good one, I'll have you know." Righteous indignation coloured her words, and Molly turned her back, beginning to clean the dishes as though to prove a point.

"Is this really the life you dreamed of, when you were young?" Incredulous, Narcissa gestured to the pots and pans lining almost every available surface.

"I want to be a responsible parent."

"Then show your youngest that she can have more than this. There's nothing reprehensible about taking care of oneself, Mrs Weasley. I love my son more than anything, but I would never consent to live a life of manual labour." The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them. "I've lived my dreams; I've been the most beautiful, I've known how to pick and choose for myself, I've always looked after Draco, and my husband has always worshipped me... Why did you let it all go? I've had the happiest time of my life, and I'll always treasure it."

There was no response. Molly's shoulders shook, and Narcissa realised that she was crying. She watched in horror as Mrs Weasley turned, face blotchy and swollen. It was a pitiful sight.

"You're cold and s-selfish." _You're a soft, plump mess_.

Narcissa raised both of her eyebrows, swallowing back her fury.

"So be it, if it means that I'll always know what it is to have been happy." Turning, Narcissa stalked from the kitchen and returned to the sanctuary of her home. She moved through the airy corridors and down into the lower levels of her home, stepping into her own kitchens, larger than the entire Weasley garden. Immediately the house elves bowed in subservience, awaiting her orders. Narcissa savoured her control.

"Canis, Racky, you are to go to the Burrow at once and serve Molly Weasley." As quickly as she had arrived, Narcissa departed to the luxury of her own rooms.

As she sat before her vanity, Narcissa examined herself. The years had been kind to her; she was still very attractive, if lacking the bloom of youth. She would always be beautiful. Removing the diamonds from her ears, Narcissa saw that her hands were not lined and wasted by years of scrubbing, kept smooth by her continual care. She pushed all thoughts of the bloated Weasley woman from her mind, soothed by the easy rhythm of brushing her hair.

It was not the good she had set out to accomplish, but perhaps her visit to the Burrow had achieved something. _Perhaps_.

**OoOoO**

**Thanks for reading. Please review. **


End file.
